


Jezebel

by eyemeohmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sexual Content, gunplay-or-something, small pinch o' gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach. "You could join me, then, and we could really set Hell on fire, the two of us," Jim crooned. His tongue flicked against the steel and Sebastian's heart skipped. "All you'd have to do, Seb, darling--" Jim pulled the trigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jezebel

**Author's Note:**

> Story is based around the song Angry Johnny by Poe. It feels like a Jim sort of song to me, and, well, I decided to play with the song and an idea I had. Not entirely happy with how it came out, but what ya gonna do.

Sebastian could vividly recall the last time he got drunk. Even if it was nearly a year ago.

New Year Eve's. Rooftop. Viewing a socialite high class party through a rifle scope. Three bottles of wine; one white, two reds; expensive stuff, real stuffy. He was tipsy, however, had built up a high tolerance throughout his years, drinking some of the most powerful shit the world had to offer. Still, he could do his job just fine. He did, too; he remembered, also, how the baroness's dress glittered in the light shone through the window, the sliver of her grin with her back turned to the assassin, and the way blood masked his view when the bullet struck her in the back of the head.

Jim had not entirely approved, however. While Moran had indeed gotten the job done, and left no evidence behind, his boss would have preferred him entirely sober. He could have messed up, could have ruined everything with one little drink too much. Sebastian tried to reason, tried to assure him he was in control the entire time, wouldn't go beyond a little buzz, but Jim would hear none of it.

"One mistake - one little _mistake_ ," Jim's voice rose in volume, face to face with his sniper so he could see the rage in his eyes, "and everything would have collapsed like a bloody house of cards. I would have your head, Moran, if that happened. I would have it after I took you apart." Moved in closer, his voice hot and spitting against Sebastian's lips. "Piece. By. Piece." Then, like the flick of a light bulb switching on, Jim was all friendly smiles and warmth. "Okeydokey? Okeydokey."

Once upon a time, Sebastian laughed at the idea of someone so small and thin and pale and ridiculously dramatic as frightening or scary. It didn't take long before he realized, the fearful reputation Jim Moriarty had built was justified. The other henchmen might have called Sebastian brave, even reckless, due to his close relationship with Jim, but the truth was, he feared him more than anyone else in the world. He had seen the true extent of Moriarty's fury, as well as the morbid parts of his good side, and knew better to step over any lines.

So Sebastian obeyed, for the sake of keeping his head, and drank only rarely. Not enough to get him drunk. Usually for special occasions, or when extremely bored, which was also rare. Jim kept him on his toes; even if the job was dull, to drink on it, even some froufrou daiquiri, would still risk aggravating that restrained hurricane.

When Jim died, Sebastian no longer had to control his desire to drink. He could drink as much as he wanted to. Get drunk, even. No one was going to stop him, or threaten him with his life. He could get shitfaced and the whole world wouldn't even bat an eye at him. It was easier to get drunk these days, some time after Jim croaked, as so did the desire to do so. The lack of jobs and the fact the organization was still trying to get back up on its feet made it all the more tempting. Jim left behind a legacy, but it was obvious he didn't care too much about it to make sure everything remained completely stable. Very much like Jim: lot of good being a criminal when you're dead, so why did would he give a fuck? He was all ready immortalized anyway.

Sebastian had bought himself a large stockade of booze, meant to enjoy moderately. Except a week later, he was binging, nearly having emptied half the cabinet. Spent a day in his small apartment, the one Jim got him, the one they shared on a few hush-hush nights. Sebastian returned from... he couldn't remember. He just needed to walk, and so he walked, for nearly twenty miles. In any case, he was cold and his head hadn't cleared up, so he saw no reason why he shouldn't get drunk.

After finishing another bottle of whiskey, Sebastian sat before the tall body mirror next to his window. A gift from Jim, for Jim, so he could check himself before he left like some girl, Sebastian didn't really get it. The window was open, and the sound of sirens and barking dogs reminded him, oh, how the mighty have fallen. He used to be admired amongst higher circles, a recognized hunter; he even published a few books that sold moderately well. A war hero, too. If only those same stiffs and socialites could see him now. See what their chivalrous, pristine Sebastian Moran was doing with his life as a killer and criminal.

Sebastian stared at the bottle. One swallow left of the warm brandy. For a moment, felt nostalgic, remembering the glamor and honor of his old life. Ah, to Hell with it. He knocked the bottle back, intent on sucking out every last drop. The past was boring, it was all boring, hunting big game in distant countries and impressing war veterans, boring boring boring.

Jim Moriarty had given him a life he had only dreamed of, not entirely realized he wanted so badly until the well-dressed devil appeared one night out of the blue. Opened his eyes and showed him Hell, and that's where he belonged and Sebastian wasn't afraid, though he should have been. Hell sounded like a Hell of fun.

But now Jim Moriarty was dead. The man who ruled the world went and shot himself and committed suicide. The most unpredictable yet total Jim thing to do. The man could dress well and talk well, but beneath those suits and manicures and restrained smiles was a loose canon. A ticking time bomb ready to implode. The fact Jim killed himself shocked Sebastian as much as it just came natural: of course, Jim would go out no other way. Most definitely not a whimper - _bang!_ and no one, _no one_ , would have the honor of sending the devil back to Hell but himself.

Sebastian didn't have to like it, however. Jim had proposed the idea, but he never thought he'd go through with it. At first, Sebastian felt numb and went on with business, carrying out orders that had been planned some days prior to Jim's demise. He went on working unaffected, showing no sign of either shock, anger or even happiness. However, when work was finished and he realized, there would be no more phone calls or visits from the funny, psychotic little Irish man with new assignments, Sebastian started feeling something.

Most would call it loneliness, but he called it disappointment. Others would say he was depressed and personally wounded by his one and only friend's suicide. He would tell them to fuck off and it was just anger the prat left him high and dry. There would be no one, however, for no one knew, that would say he was heart broken that the man he might have loved, the only person he might have _ever_ loved, was gone. If anyone knew of their relationship, how deep it had ran, they would have said this and Sebastian might have... Well, walked away.

The switchblade hissed, cut open the golden lining of the rum bottle. He unscrewed the top, refused to acknowledge the tremor in his hand. He really should stop for the night - Hell, for a while. Sebastian was sure if he survived through the night without alcohol poisoning and his liver shutting down, then bless, miracles were actually real. Still, wetting his lips and ignoring the blur at the corners of his bloodshot eyes, he took a long, hard swallow. Felt like some baby sucking from a bottle of milk.

Whatever. No one was here to judge or criticize him.

"I thought you would've passed out an hour ago."

Sebastian slowly lowered the bottle. He didn't seem surprised, not one bit, that Jim was sitting in front of him. Even in his nice suit, there, sitting on the floor, though he cast no reflection in the mirror behind him. Jim smiled, amused, hands pressed together and resting in his lap. "I underestimated your more useless abilities."

Sebastian grumbled. He sat the rum down and said, snidely, "Better than the grotty stuff you buy me."

"You're lucky I bought you anything at all," Jim countered. He reached out, placing a finger on the bottle's wet barrel. Tipped it back so he could read the label. Jim made a disgusted face before shoving it away. "Cheap, cheap swill, how could you fill yourself with this muck?"

Sebastian exhaled. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"That's no way to talk to your boss."

"Ex-boss."

"No way to talk to your friend."

"Hmm, I don't know."

"How about," Jim paused, smiling cruelly, "your fuckbuddy?"

Sebastian frowned. "Am I dead?" he asked. He squinted, but Jim was still there. Blinked, opened his eyes.

Jim waved. "I'm still here, and no, you're not dead."

"What are you doing here?" Sebastian sighed.

Jim produced a key, and Sebastian laughed. "But why?"

"I pay for this flat," Jim replied, "I can visit whenever I want."

"You don't pay for it anymore."

"Yes, I do. The remainder of your last payment does, and thus I do."

Sebastian raked a hand down his face. "So, what, they allow free trips to and from Hell?" he grumbled.

Jim shrugged. "Ehh, I got a passport. It's only good for six visits," he said and grinned. They both chuckled before settling into silence. "Hell's nice and all, but I miss seasons, you know? I needed to escape the heat for a bit, was getting sunburned." He brushed off his suit. "The humidity is the worst part, however. Can't find a decent beauty parlor without running into a Sweeney Todd."

"So, where are your horns? Your forked tongue tail and pitchfork? All that stuff?" Sebastian joked.

"You have to earn those. It's a points' system. I'm on level five, which I've been told is really surprising for a newcomer," Jim replied. "I'm thinking of something like - a crown. A crown of horns. Fitting, wouldn't you think?"

"You look good in a crown," Sebastian teased. "Just don't go for the goat feet."

"God, no. _Now_ you're being daft."

Sebastian laughed again. Didn't realize how hard until a stabbing pain hit his skull. He growled and squeezed his eyes shut, palming his temple. "I've reached the point of no return. Having conversations with a drunk hallucination," he growled.

"Rather intelligent and coherent ones," Jim purred, "you're so drunk, maybe you're sobering up."

"Better bleeding not."

Sebastian didn't move, didn't push away when Jim was suddenly sitting right in front of him. His gentle, warm fingers smoothing over Sebastian's face. He touched his temple, and for some reason, the pain dulled; he opened his eyes, met Jim's, pale but pretty. "Devil magic?" he mumbled. "But--"

"Mind over matter," Jim chuckled. His fingers continued stroking along Sebastian's face, gently rubbing into scalp. "But I can play along. We can pretend this is real." He moved face to face with the taller, drunk man, their noses brushing. His grin was malicious, eyes lidded and thick with some sort of lust. "I'm a devil, paying you a visit from Hell. A modern, male Jezebel, I went out with style and enjoy some fooling around."

"No buggering allowed in Hell?"

"Very strict rules, you see."

"At least you're not here to warn me of my impending doom, suppose. Angel of death would seem fitting, however."

They were quiet, Jim's fingers still against Sebastian's face. Their eyes connected, unblinking, staring. Sebastian dipped his head forward, hesitated, before pressing lips against Jim's. They were hot, wet, and it was so awkward, as if they were kissing for the first time like blushing high schoolers. Then, familiarity set in, and Sebastian's hands took the smaller man's hips, held him tightly as he kissed him harder. Jim curled fingers into short, wild hair, clinging to him closely.

They kissed with a fevered, rushed passion, that was deep as it was hurried. Just like before, just like the past, when every kiss felt like it would be the last. They didn't mind, however; as long as there was fire, that was all that mattered. There was certainly intensity, and even now, Jim was biting, sucking, tasting. This time, Sebastian knew, in the depths of his alcohol soaked mind, this was the last. The very last, unlike before.

The last time, he remembered that just as vividly, too. Jim had taken Sebastian's wrist, pulled him over, kissed him. Might have left them breathless and naked on the floor, if Jim hadn't broken away and reminded them of business. Sebastian had his errand to run, and Jim was due to rendezvous with Sherlock Holmes on the hospital rooftop. It was Sebastian who was more wary than Jim, the one who actually met his end when it was all over.

That wasn't their last kiss, not now, and Sebastian was grateful for that. It didn't feel proper for a final farewell. Though he was sure, when he was sober again and Jim was gone, this one would feel just as weak. Above all, it wouldn't even count, as it was all an illusion. Even then, there was no denying the lust that suddenly dominated the alcohol spiking his veins. Jim was a Hell of a kisser, something maddening but satisfying, and now that imaginary hand was pressing against the bulge straining against Sebastian's pants.

"Christ," Sebastian breathed, drawing his head back quickly.

Jim leered, mouth still hovering close. "No," he purred, "just the opposite." He dragged his hand up and along the erection, stroking it. "Do you... want me to stop?" He licked Sebastian's parted, panting lips. Added more pressure with his hand and Sebastian trembled. "Just say it, and I'll stop," and nibbled at the blond's bottom lip.

Sebastian groaned. He answered by grabbing Jim's face, yanking him into another terrible, messy kiss. Jim's hand halted and he focused entirely on their kiss, lapping tongues and exchanging hot, moist air. When Sebastian next opened his eyes, Jim was naked, not a single thread of fabric on him. Sebastian choked, wide eyed. The smaller man sat forward, one hand pressed between his legs, concealing; he placed a finger to Sebastian's mouth, dragged it down along jawline. "Hallucinations get things done quick," he snickered.

"You're telling me," Sebastian swallowed. He had not imagined seeing Jim naked again, but here he was. In all his nude glory, every nuance and scar of his body the same as the last time they fucked. Nothing had changed; nothing felt strange or different. As if this was all normal and perfect. Perfect, at least, it was definitely perfect, and Jim's attention moved to the AK-47 lying abandoned near the liquor pile.

"Ah," Jim said, and pulled the gun over. "Your last job was just yesterday, wasn't it?" He lifted the rifle, examining it. "How did that make you feel? Knowing it was the end." He removed the magazine, eyebrows climbing. "Still loaded, save one shot. It's all you've ever needed; one shot, nothing more." He slammed the magazine closed and smirked. "This is why you were always daddy's favorite."

Sebastian just watched him. Jim was stroking hands along the length of the gun, up and down, in slow, heavy strokes. Sebastian felt too stiff, constricted. "What will you do next? Find yourself a mob boss to serve?" Jim's eyes kept his locked. Fingers smoothing the barrel, down, up, down, up. "Tiger hunting in Africa? You must miss those safaris, chasing animals down pipes, all that silly nonsense," he laughed, and flicked the trigger. Sebastian winced. "Or maybe you'll retire, write another book, and watch the clouds pass you by? An old man, smoking your cigars, reading the mundane _Times_ , just like all those decrepit, dozy codgers in your old hunting society. Do you miss them, Sebastian, and their senile ignorance?"

Jim pulled the gun flush against him. Closed his legs around its bottom half and stock, tight. "Or will you just say bugger it all, and go on a mad, unbiased killing spree?" Jim's cheek caressed the neck, hand sliding along the curve of the magazine. Sebastian's breath caught in his throat alongside a bobbing lump. "That ought to be fun. You'll kill and kill until you're bored or stopped. You won't be arrested, no; how dull. You'd rather die than rot in jail. So you'll go out in a glorious blaze of fire. They'll have to kill you to bring you down. There's simply no other way out." God, and his hips undulated, just once, to grind against the rifle.

"Might be... on my game plan..." Sebastian tittered. He wanted nothing more than to fuck Jim right then and there. However, the bastard was quite distracting, the way he stroked and rubbed against the gun. He watched as Jim pushed it out, tilting it back, so the barrel rested faintly at his lips.

"You could join me, then, and we could _really_ set Hell on fire, the two of us," Jim crooned. His tongue flicked against the steel and Sebastian's heart skipped. "All you'd have to do, Seb, darling--" Jim pulled the trigger.

Sebastian recoiled, choking on a gasp and shriek as the gun went off. A blast shot right through Jim's head, leaving an exit wound, and blood spraying the mirror behind him. Jim, however, calmly removed the gun from his mouth and held it back. "Oops," he giggled, wiggling fingers, "slipped."

"What... What the Hell was that!?"

Jim carefully touched the new head wound. "Hmm." Drew his hand back to examine the blood and brain matter. "More force with this gun. Not surprised if my brain's smeared all over your mirror. How rude of me."

"You tryin' to kill the Goddamn moment?" Sebastian snapped. He yanked the rifle from Jim's hand, and noticed - it was set on safety the entire time. When he looked up, alarmed, the blood and Jim's wound were gone.

Jim grinned widely at the surprised look. He crawled up and over to Sebastian, pushed the gun out of his hand and slipped into his lap. Stretched out and wrapped his legs around the pale man's waist, arms across defined shoulders. "If anything," he crooned, and ground against Sebastian's groin, "I thought it would add more sensuality to the mood." Another slow roll. "Yup, still got it."

"God, you're insane," Sebastian hissed. He shook his head. "Alive, dead, a drunk hallucination - you're bloody insane. A bleeding nutter. Always will be." He then smashed his lips against Jim's, and kissed him breathless. Jim chuckled but kissed back with the same passion, held tight to him. Sebastian bent forward, until Jim was lying beneath him, still clinging tightly. One hand worked at quickly removing his pants and briefs, the other scooped beneath Jim.

Once his clothes were off, puddled around his ankles, Sebastian tore his mouth away. Took a deep breath and said, "We need some--" But then Jim was taking his hand, guiding it between his legs, beneath him. Sebastian's heart fluttered. "Second time you've done this for me. Still flattered."

"I told you," Jim said, and watched as Sebastian drew back his wet hand, "hallucinations take care of all the tedious work and formalities." He held his friend's face, smoothed thumbs over cheekbones. "Though, rest assured, it will feel like the real thing."

Sebastian grinned, though it was tired. "Let's find out," he said. Jim chortled and took his face, pulling him down into a kiss. Something softer, this time.

Sebastian would have figured, despite his intoxication, the sex would be fast, violent, quick. Angry, even, desperate and releasing pent-up loneliness he had finally confessed to harboring. Yet, it wasn't. Once Sebastian was inside Jim - and the smaller man, worrying bottom lip between his teeth and arching just slightly - he felt no need to rush or hurt him. He wanted it to last, somehow, some way, and going about sex slowly seemed logical.

Jim wrapped his legs around Sebastian's waist, a hand beneath the small of his back, helping lift him a little. Arms swung in an embrace around Sebastian's neck. Sebastian kissed his lips, his throat, between shoulder and neck, peppering more along shoulder, down clavicle, along collar bone, curving as his tongue dipped around a nipple. Jim gasped, and his nails bore into his old friend's back, ruffling and clawing at the shirt. Wanting to mark the skin hidden beneath. Sebastian stroked tongue and kisses down the length of his shuddering belly, down to his navel then back up, following the same path. Pausing at his throat, to nip before sucking fiercely, and Jim writhed in his arms, pushing himself down harder into Sebastian, wanting more, positively needing more.

Though this Jim Moriarty was not the... real Jim, so to speak, he felt the same. His skin, tingling and smooth as those ridiculously fashionable ties he once adored, sweat beading along his face and down his chest in rivets and pin drops. Short hair soft, the same dark black as before. His smell; something thick, a spot of honey and the right amount of musk. The noises - the noises especially identical; the low growls, the reluctant whimpers, and deepthroated groans and purrs. The way he twitched, the way his fingers tugged and pulled, the heavy gasps for air and the slight furrow to his neat, trimmed brows. Oh, Sebastian wished for anything this was real, that the man he was fucking in his arms, the man he admired and probably, most likely loved, was all flesh and blood and bone that did not fade once his mind was clear of its drunken haze and fog.

Wishing got no one anywhere. The only way he could be with him again, and there was no guarantee-- Sebastian cursed against Jim's lips, kissed him before his former friend could ask what was wrong. What he was thinking, so he could pick it apart, feel more amused at its longing and anger than empathy and shared disappointment. Instead, he bit his tongue - bit Jim's too - and the rhythm picked up, hips snapping, grinding pelvis to pelvis. Jim didn't complain or question the sudden change of pace.

Then, as the tension built and swelled and demanded, Sebastian hissed between grit teeth, lunged forward and remained stiff. He came, and Jim released a small _oh_ at the sensation filling him. It seemed to be enough to knock the orgasm right out of him, letting it smear across his belly, a few droplets hitting Sebastian's chest. For a few minutes, they remained in place, breathing, resting, enjoying the heat and the smell of sex filling the room.

Sebastian opened his eyes, looked into Jim's too-dark gaze. Jim swept a hand over his belly, along the smear of fluid; it was gone in a flash. Sebastian snickered and shook his head. He laid against Jim, hands searching, finding and holding Jim's. "I'm mad. I'm daft. I'm bloody insane," he laughed.

"We're all mad here. Might as well enjoy it," Jim purred. His hands slipped from Sebastian's, rested on his friend's shoulders. He turned his head, lips to Sebastian's ear. In a low, hot whisper, he said, "I'll see you in Hell, love."

Sebastian startled, eyes snapping open. He was panting, soaked in sweat, lying on the ground. Staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling above. His head turned, ached at the movement. Scanned the area, but... No sign of Jim. In fact, nothing seemed out of place. His bottle of rum, it was unopened, though he thought he had taken a few drinks... He grumbled as he slowly sat up, rubbing his head and face. He felt sick, and his stomach was knotting.

Sebastian glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. A small, bitter smile tugged along his face. He had passed out exactly one hour ago.

END


End file.
